The Undead of Erebor
by LilyRosetheDreamer
Summary: AU: The Company arrive at Erebor, but nothing is as it seems and Thorin is caught in a terrifying web that has nothing to do with the spiders of Mirkwood...
1. Chapter 1

The Undead of Erebor.

Hi all! This is chapter one of the Undead of Erebor and it was an idea that wouldn't leave me after clapping eyes on the Arkenstone for the first time and knowing that the Necromancer was added to the film to shake things up a bit. I shouldn't be starting ANOTHER story, seeing as I have about eight others ongoing on here as it is, but the need to see this on here overcame me like the golden sickness overcame the line of Durin. This is my first venture into the Hobbit section!

Disclaimer: I own nothing – that's all Peter Jackson and J.R.R. Tolkien.

* * *

**Here but Never Back Again.**

The doors were still hot to the touch after the fire that had raged through the halls once more moments earlier.

**_(Fire, fire burned your skin, run RUN NOW!)_**

A hand trembled and laid itself flat on the door, partly to support its owner, partly to hide said tremble. He couldn't do this – he couldn't bear to see what was left. But he was the King; he couldn't afford weakness, not now.

**_(The gold was going to bury him it was going to drown him until it melted in fire and poured into his lungs - !)_**

Thorin Oakenshield pushed open the door, feeling eyes boring into his skull.

* * *

It was dark. Mahal, it was dark.

Thorin stopped dead as the others moved past him eagerly, itching to explore. Only two remained behind.

"Thorin?"

Bilbo's hesitant voice echoed and he swore he could hear his own breathing. Had it always been that loud?

"Thorin, move."

Balin's firm hand at his back guided him to a pile of metal (probably glittering gold when seen in torch fire) and made him sit.

"It's alright, Bilbo. We've been through a lot to get this far and this place brings back a lot of memories. He's probably in shock!"

The weak attempt at humour slipped over Thorin's dark head like dirty water.

He was here.

Thorin Oakenshield was here. Back in the Lonely Mountain and remembering when it hadn't been lonely. When it hadn't been this oppressive.

It took a few minutes for him to recover, removing his hand from his mouth that had kept lava from spilling out. Had he been breathing?

"We should light up the place."

His deep voice was a whisper and Bilbo and Balin practically fell over themselves to do his bidding.

His behaviour was infectious, no doubt.

An emptiness that settled in his stomach the day when they had left the mountain reared up like a blanket, but with none of the comfort.

Maybe starting to look around the place would help Thorin stop this childish foreboding. After all, what did he have left to fear now? Standing on faint legs, the King under the Mountain headed towards the source of light that was created by the rest of the Company.

"Ey, look who it is!" Bofur cheered, the flaps of his furry hat bouncing slightly as he stooped and picked up a sick, lighting it from the small fire in the centre.

"There you go!"

Thorin nodded his thanks.

"We'll split up and see what we can find initially. Then we'll meet up back here, understand?" he called sternly, letting his inner power bleed into his words to focus their attention and a cry of confirmation rose up from the little group.

A swell of pride tugged at him as he watched them all pick their routes, Fili and Kili going together as usual.

Then the raven-haired dwarf turned and stalked out of the room silently, choosing a path that led upwards. He blinked a haze out of his eyes as he slipped in and out of the shadows, upset to find that he wasn't sure where he was going. Thorin knew Erebor like he knew himself once. Now he wasn't certain of either. Much had changed on this quest.

More than once, Thorin felt something watching him, teasing him with dragon eyes and he quickened his pace despite the knowledge that the great wyrm was dead. Terror of an oncoming madness forced him to stop at a random door, yearning for something, ANYTHING, to occupy his restless mind. Cautiously pushing the stone door open, he started when he felt something small and furry scramble over his foot.

_Just a rat, stupid dwarf_, he berated himself.

Holding his flaming stick higher (he hated holding it but he had no choice), Thorin stepped further in. The he realised where he was, fingers supported by smooth white marble.

The library.

A place where he had tucked himself away as a boy, delighted by tales of far-off places.

Moving through slowly, Thorin reverently touched leather embossed spines, carefully excited to find most of his favourites intact. The floor crumbled under his feet in some places without kind dwarf hands to take care of it and the wooden shelves, grand oak lined with gold, was rotting from the inside out. Absorbed as he was, Thorin almost hit the ceiling when the engraved door slammed shut behind him. He whipped his head round to look for a moment before shaking his body out. This nervous energy he was gripped by was ridiculous.

"Stop being so frightened!" he hissed, teeth clenched.

Something ivory and dusty caught his blue eyes and he went over, his heart twisting when he realised it was a skeleton of one of his kin. Their bodies were scattered all over this mountain, despite some parts being relatively untouched by the dragon's wrath. He slipped for a second and found himself nearly meeting the ground head on before he managed to catch himself.

"Clumsy oaf." He muttered.

Almost absently in the dank silence, Thorin brushed dust and webs off the body.

The head turned, sockets gazing eerily into his own eyes and Thorin reached instinctively for his sword, only to curse when he remembered leaving it back in the main halls. The undead being rose from the carved stone chair and Thorin backed off sharply, his hand finding a knife hidden in his pocket instead. The temperature seemed to have dropped and he shivered. He'd never seen anything like this. This wasn't natural, no; they should be staying dead and oh by the Gods - !

"Stay back!" he commanded roughly, burying his shock under fighter's instinct and blood pumping adrenaline.

Of course, it didn't listen because he, King under the Mountain, told it to.

It should though, he thought indignantly as he slashed at it, causing it to stumble back, its loose jaw clacking grotesquely.

How was this happening?

Suddenly, he tripped, too busy fighting it off to see where he was going, and the torch flew from his left hand, bouncing away. The shadows wavered and distorted, throwing the heartless ribs of the once dead dwarf in harsh relief. Landing on his behind, Thorin pushed himself up, dodging a swipe of the clawed hands and coming at it again, giving it a good kick for measure along with the strike as it finally disintegrated, rattling breathing fading away.

For a long moment, Thorin stared with wild orbs at where his attacker had just been, now little more than ashes on the floor. Why? Why had his kin done that? Was Mahal taunting the line of Durin even now? How?

Acrid smoke stung at his nostrils and a sudden roar caused Thorin to swivel quickly and freeze at the wall of red and orange that licked at old parchment hungrily.

Mouth dry, Thorin saw his people screaming as they shrivelled and were consumed, fire reflected in terrified crystal eyes.

Erebor was on fire again.

Forcing his limbs to work, Thorin struggled through the fog of fear _**(fire no no it was too close no more fire!)** _to the door; he had to find water to put it out, there was no dragon this time, he had CONTROL - !

The door wouldn't open.

Panic descended as he pulled frantically, ramming his shoulder over and over into the unyielding grey until something crunched and he couldn't move it anymore.

"Open, open!" he seethed**_ (it was coming creeping he was going to die screaming like his people his__ mother)_**.

The popping came closer and his phobia finally broke him, making him hammer on the door screeching and pleading for help until he ended up choking on the smoke and the pain of his ruined shoulder on the floor **_(how the line of Durin had fallen again he needed to get out Kings shouldn't act like this LET HIM OUT!)_**

"Oh Mahal, oh hell!" he sobbed, pressing his bearded face against his arm to try and breathe, his body flattened as much as possible into the door to prolong his final moments of life and the flames raced closer with no mercy and he couldn't stop his fist pounding in blind desperation, curling inwards.

A voice was answering his wails.

"Thorin!"

His vision was swallowed by orange - .

"THORIN!"

Someone pulled him upright and his eyes snapped open, a warm wetness trickling down his face. Beads of sweat were formed on his forehead as he blinked the horror away and saw Dwalin's white face staring back.

"By Thror's beard, Thorin, you terrified me there!"

Thorin's head lolled. He didn't remember Dwalin coming with him.

"What…?"

"We were exploring the library and you tripped and conked yer head!"

Thorin couldn't think of any of that and he blinked slowly again.

"Dwalin?"

"Oh, for the – you've probably gone and given yerself concussion, haven't yer?" The thick-muscled dwarf crossed his arms in aggravation.

Apart from the double-vision, Thorin felt relatively fine and the dwarven king stood shakily, his head feeling like it had been split open by an axe.

Poor Bifur.

"My head's hard." He slurred, looking for his dropped torch.

"Of course it is, yer a dwarf!" Dwalin ground out. "But yer still bleedin'."

Thorin wasn't listening. His insides roiled at the sight of a pile of black ash sitting innocently on the floor.

"That wasn't there before." He murmured and swayed.

"Oh no, you're goin' to Oin." The taller male growled as Thorin started towards it and grabbed an arm.

The chiselled king sagged against his old friend in hurt bewilderment and the two dwarves left the room, the skeleton ash all but forgotten for the moment.

After all, Thorin's muddled mind reasoned, it was only a dream, right?

* * *

Phew, a nice long chapter to get us started! I feel that Thorin would have been a little overwhelmed to be back in Erebor. Plus, after the trauma he's been through, I also have a little head canon that he's developed a nasty phobia of fire. But eh, we'll see. Hope you all like it!

Love Lily. X


	2. Chapter 2

The Undead of Erebor.

Hi! Thanks for all the attention this story has received so far and we're back in the Lonely Mountain.

* * *

Ice Cold.

Thorin received the proper fussing that his head deserved when they returned to the spot the others had gathered at, waiting for them patiently. It seemed their library escapade had taken longer than expected.

At least, that was how Dwalin felt.

Thorin answered Oin's quick questions correctly, but they came after a short pause while Thorin's gaze wandered. Honestly, the King had no idea what the fuss was about!

"We should…we should do something else now." He slurred and Oin nodded along sagely, tying the last strip of bandage to Thorin's black head.

"Yes, that's an excellent idea, my King. Turning in for the night will certainly do us some good."

Thorin stared dumbly at him for a moment, unsure of whether he had suggested that or not. But he must have done to get those words from the healer, so he complied quietly, more tired now than he'd ever been on the quest. He could rest properly now, knowing that the adventure was mostly over.

As Thorin slept heavily, curled into a ball beneath the furs, Dwalin stomped over to Nori, who was still up as well.

"I'm still takin' watch tonight."

"Might as well," Nori replied, stabbing thin air with his pipe. "I know we're generally safe as houses in 'ere, but yer never know."

Dwalin grunted in response.

"No need to worry 'bout 'im," came Nori's casual voice later. "Just a concussion. 'E'll be up and about tomorrah."

"That's what's worryin' me," Dwalin admitted gruffly. "He's been through too much."

An uncomfortable silence settled for a moment, both men wallowing in the past and it was broken by Nori shifting and sighing.

"I know you see 'im as a little brother. I've worried about Dori and Ori loads of times throughout this."

"He shouldn't have to do this," the bald dwarf muttered. "Not with the few numbers we 'ad."

"Yet we did it," Nori countered quietly, his gaze shifting briefly to Ori as he hummed in his sleep. "That's a good man."

"Nah," Dwalin turned briefly to the dwarf with star-shaped hair. "That's a good KING."

* * *

The night passed with little event and they let Thorin sleep in the next day while they ate.

"Eh, somebody should wake him." Said Bofur after a while of good spirited talking and Bilbo volunteered.

Of course, said burglar nearly had a punch to the face for his troubles, but he forgave the embarrassed leader easily, waving off any attempts made to add more gold and trinkets to his reward.

"Are we going exploring again today?" he asked while Thorin sat groggily across from him, braiding his hair slowly and methodically.

"I don't see why not," Thorin replied quietly. "Would you like me to show you the parts I remember best?"

Bilbo looked overjoyed.

"Absolutely!"

And so it was that the unlikely pair of hobbit and dwarf made their way down to the treasury first, Bilbo curious about the wealth that he hadn't had chance to glance through the first time. The slightly taller male agreed pleasantly enough, but inside he felt sick.

He couldn't go in there.

He'd already felt gold madness creeping up on him the closer they'd come to Erebor. Going in the Treasury would set him off, he knew it.

By the time they stood outside, his anxiety was too strong.

"Bilbo, can you do me a favour? Please?"

Baggins was still getting used to his newly stated name (by Thorin at least) and started at the utterance. He'd almost forgotten that it was the name he'd been born with, he'd been called burglar that many times.

"Sure, what is it?"

Thorin felt desperately ashamed, but kept that out of his usual stern countenance.

"Would you go in there without me?"

Confusion spread across his friend's (was he really calling him that now?) face.

"I think I need a dwarf to tell me about it. I can't just conjure information out of thin air."

Thorin drew in a deep breath, keeping his aching head and temper in check.

"I…can't go in with you. It was foolish of me to have entertained the idea in the first place."

Compassionate understanding dawned upon Bilbo's expression.

"Oh…you're scared."

Curse the insightful hobbit. The siren call exerted its song over him and his mouth went dry at the voice of the Treasury…of the Arkenstone.

"No," he said eventually through gritted teeth. "I'm merely taking precautions."

The smaller creature watched him carefully.

"Hm, quite right!" he exclaimed cheerfully, smiling when Thorin pivoted in surprise. "I'll go in alone. Maybe I can describe things to you, and then you can tell me about them."

That was rather thoughtful, Thorin thought, his composure back in place.

"I suppose that will do." He said and kept his distance while the tiny hobbit trotted inside, gasping audibly with wonder.

As he called out various items that caught his interest, Thorin answered with a deceptively calm voice, but his hands clamped down on his arms as they gradually began to shake.

That damn gold song!

_**It was everywhere everywhere - !**_

He knew he couldn't do this.

Bilbo's voice echoed in puzzlement at the lack of response from his friend and Thorin fled, his hands clenching into fists and his lungs closing up.

So weak, so cowardly! His ancestors would be deeply disappointed.

* * *

The burglar found him sitting outside, his head resting on his knees and his face hidden in his strong arms, which were wrapped tightly around his legs. He was the picture of vulnerability.

Bilbo sat down next to Thorin and waited.

"M'sorry." Came a mumble from the huddled dwarf and Bilbo Baggins had to remind himself that this was a rare occurrence, Thorin showing his perceived weaknesses in front of another. It stirred pity inside his breast.

He had to be gentle about this, like talking to a feral wildcat

"This isn't your fault, y'know."

A snort showed the King's disbelief.

"You're doing better than the two kings that came before you."

A heartless chuckle emanated from his companion, who still hadn't raised his head.

"Am I?"

There blew a soft breeze from the valleys below and with it arrived a kind silence on the hobbit's behalf, allowing Thorin to hide within himself, rubbing his forehead on knee cloth.

"I want to run away."

Bilbo wisely said nothing.

"I thought this would be wonderful, but I-I'm not sure I belong in Erebor anymore."

"Don't be daft, you've always belonged here!"

This did make Thorin jerk his inky head, streaked with grey, to stare with dull eyes.

"Hm, it's nice that you have faith in me."

A hand travelled up to start tugging at his braids, a bad habit born in childhood when he was frightened or anxious. Being both meant that he almost yanked them out.

Brown eyes bore into his as his newest friend went to kneel in front of him and carefully stilled the frantic tugging.

"I don't think Balin would be pleased if you pulled your own hair out."

"A royal loss." Thorin returned sarcastically.

Sighing, Bilbo took both bigger hands in his, rubbing them to get warmth back in, as it seemed to have been leeched out all of a sudden.

"You've done it, Thorin Oakenshield! You've reclaimed what you should NEVER have lost! An yet you're still waiting for something to happen - ,"

"I _know_ something is going to happen!" Thorin hissed, his limbs stiffening. "My gut won't stop trying to make me throw up breakfast! I always feel like this when we're going to be thrown to the jaws of Fate once more!"

Bilbo was taken aback by the other's outburst and a minute shudder worked its way through the muscular body of the normally proud heir.

"My apologies again," he whispered coldly, his eyes lashing with the storm that had been present on his face moments earlier. "I'm being a poor host."

The latecomer to the company laughed merrily, something that warmed the dwarven king's heart a little.

"Not much to host with at the moment, is there?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of Thorin's mouth.

"No, I suppose not."

They would have sat in peace for a lot longer, but Fili shot out of the entrance, summer blue orbs filled with utter terror and Thorin started.

"Uncle, we're being attacked!"

"Who by?" Bilbo cried, jumping up, but an eerie quiet washed over Fili's uncle.

He strangely knew already.

"Our own kin." He mouthed along with Fili's upset shout.

* * *

That's chapter two and we're now being thrown into the action headfirst, so hooray! I also felt that a heart to heart with Bilbo and Thorin was long overdue.

Love Lily. X


	3. Chapter 3

The Undead of Erebor.

Hi! This is where the action and adrenaline begins. Can Thorin and co. get to the bottom of this?

* * *

Blood Song.

It was pandemonium inside.

The ashes blew in the harsh breeze from gaps and entrances in the stone as the dead limped murderously amongst living kin, not resting until their weapons spilled what blood was left in Erebor. Ori was backed against the wall, separated from his older brothers, both of them yelling in anguish, and it was to him Thorin dove for first, knowing he'd never forgive himself if he left him there.

"Ori, get to your brothers! They need you!" he bellowed, bringing his sword down on a skeleton and watching it dissolve like the one in his waking dream.

He felt a stone whizz past his bearded cheek as Ori moved past hurriedly.

One rotting corpse cut into Thorin's arm as he ducked from an overheard swing but he didn't feel it, a war drum where his heart used to rest. Hacking at a dead eyed miner, he flung the charred remains off himself and drove his weapon into the head of the foe bearing down on Bilbo.

"You need to fight, Mister Baggins!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" shouted the other grumpily as he shoved his foot in the abdomen of a dead dwarf (or what was left of it anyway). "You need to pay attention to your own safety!"

Thorin couldn't focus on himself right now – he had living beings to care and fight for, especially concerning his nephews.

"Fili! Kili!" he cried and was rewarded by a tell-tale arrow to a zombie behind him.

Satisfied at the subtle message, he lost himself in decaying flesh and steel, until there was suddenly nothing left in front of him. A heavy stillness settled over the panting group.

"What in Mahal's name was that?" Dori burst out, unable to wrap his head around the situation.

Thorin threw down his weapon and kicked lightly as some ashes in frustration.

"I don't know," he confessed, feeling like a let-down. "I've never heard of something like this before."

Bilbo touched his elbow lightly.

"I suppose the Arkenstone is off the cards then?" he joked and was surprised by the tiny sad smile sent his way.

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh, er, I was only joking."

"I know, but it was a sensible thought as well."

Balin stepped up to Thorin's side, knowing how important the heirloom was to the man, but proud that Thorin wasn't being consumed by gold lust so far.

He'd been raised well.

"I'm sorry, lad. It'll only be for a short time, I promise."

The once-exiled king nodded, running a hand down his face and moving on, anxiously checking on the welfare of the others.

"He'll be a good king." Bilbo said in admiration.

Balin agreed and prayed with all his heart.

* * *

By the time midday came round, the debris from the battle and from the dragon's rage in its ransacking of Erebor was mostly swept to one side, ready to be dealt with later.

Thorin looked stressed and tired; his normally glittering orbs dull with overthinking. Several times, Fili had tried to make his uncle take a break, reminding him of the head injury from yesterday, only to be harshly rebuked every time. The crestfallen expression didn't seem to deter Thorin much, but his heart always panged in secret shame.

"Where could they have come from?" Bofur wondered for the eighth time, stroking his beard. "We didn't see 'em come in."

"Of course not!" Thorin ground out, near the end of his patience. "They were probably in this hall."

He kneaded his knuckles into the old stone table they were currently surrounding and resisted the urge to tug at his hair again.

"What we NEED to know is HOW?"

Gloin shook his head darkly from his place between Oin and Bifur.

"Witchcraft is what it is. Someone must have set this up."

Thorin's face drained of colour. What if that were true?

"I'd like to know how they got past that bloody dragon." Muttered Nori, one hand on Ori's smaller shoulder.

Thorin just wanted to pillow his head into his arms and watch it all pass him by. If only it were that simple.

"We should keep the watches going for the time being." The dwarf king grumbled, at a loss at where to go from there.

"Maybe more exploration would give us some clues," the burglar spoke up kindly. "And we can always bully Gandalf for answers when he gets here."

"If he comes back." Bombur rumbled, his hands resting on his large girth.

Not wanting the group to remain discouraged, Bofur started whistling to a dwarven drinking song as the group adjourned and the younger ones took to singing along. The hobbit wandered back in the direction of the Treasury, accompanied by Kili this time (the poor lad still had a limp from the blasted orc arrow to the leg) and Dwalin once again strolled alongside his friend.

"How's yer 'ead?"

Thorin grunted, taking in the high stone and marble ceilings above.

"I remember these walls," he murmured to nobody in particular, the words lilting off his tongue like music. "I remember the life of the stone within."

Touching one craggy surface reverently, wanting to take his mind off the current problems at hand, he faced his friend.

"Do you?"

The bald headed dwarf in front of him smiled softly, clasping his shoulder.

"Aye mate, I do."

If Thorin closed his eyes, he could almost hear his brother's infectious laughter and his mother's lullabies.

"There'll be light in here again, Dwalin." He said, as if he was trying to reassure the other (or was it himself?).

"Absolutely."

He hadn't had much chance to properly drink in the taste of the general success of their quest and a real grin spread across his face all of a sudden, dropping the years off his weathered face, and a giddiness spread through his veins, rare as the fairies rumoured to exist.

"We're here!" Thorin whispered, utterly thrilled for the first time in sixty years and Dwalin's low laughter resonated near him.

"Oh. NOW you're satisfied," he barked, smirking. "I was hoping it would sink in sooner or later. I blame the head injury personally."

"And you didn't mention me being dropped on my head as a babe!" Thorin chuckled. "I am blessed today!"

Dwalin smiled in return.

"'Tis nice to see you laughin' again." He praised warmly.

The once prince didn't answer, letting his mirth die down as they went further in. Even now, his good moods never lasted long.

It saddened him to see his formerly proud home in such disarray, rubble and soot patches spread all over the cracked floors. Here and there were chips of precious stone and old forgotten bones scattered freely, turning the mountain into a mass graveyard.

His old friend sobered behind him and he peered up a flight of stairs.

"Thorin, ain't this the way to yer sister's room?"

The other dwarf paused, glancing back.

"It's been so long since I've been here, I can barely recall."

With slumped shoulders, Thorin started up the stairs, Dwalin following faithfully. They didn't make it to the top, however, because someone yelled for them both to return as quickly as possible. Casting each other concerned looks, they did as they were bid, reaching the rest of the Company in record time. They were crowded round Kili and Bilbo, who cupped something in his hands, an expression of awe on his scratched face.

"What's going on?"

"I've found the Arkenstone!"

Any words left died in Thorin's throat and his world fell away as a gleaming rainbow filled the room, rippling like water. Bilbo's voice faded out as he reached out to touch the stone, his hand shaking.

And as soon as he did, he felt warmth seeping out through his arm, from his chest, his head, his legs. They buckled underneath him and he heard a distant scream (he recognised it but couldn't remember who owned it) as Thorin Oakenshield collapsed.

* * *

That's it for chapter three! Funny how some items turn up when you've given up looking for them, isn't it?

But are the walking dead connected in any way to this discovery? Are they purely coincidental? And why has Thorin fainted?

We'll see…

Love Lily. X


	4. Chapter 4

The Undead of Erebor.

This is chapter four and the Company are no closer to solving the problems that keep arising…

* * *

Gleaming.

Balin was the one to catch Thorin as he crumpled, while Kili and Fili let out cries of shock and concern.

Bilbo retracted the hand holding the Arkenstone like he'd burned Thorin himself.

"Confound this dwarf!" Oin said loudly as he settled the prince down on the ground with Balin's assistance and set about checking his head, which was sill wrapped in white linen.

The hobbit pocketed the shining Arkenstone with a nervous glance at Kili, who seemed to be quivering with self-restraint.

"Did we do something wrong?"

The young dwarf tried to smile in reassurance.

"No, I think Uncle's just overworked himself. It wouldn't be the first time."

It sounded logical, yet Bilbo Baggins couldn't shake the feeling that something strange had just happened. It left a pit in his rounded stomach as he watched Oin, Dwalin and Balin tend to the soon-to-be King.

* * *

It was freezing.

When had Erebor become so cold?

Had Smaug's fire curled in on itself and leeched away the physical warmth from the mountain as well as the life and laughter?

Was the mountain itself ill?

…Was the Arkenstone trying to tell him something?

Either way, it didn't matter, Thorin was drowning and drifting down a stream of ice and there was no barrel to shelter in. Every breath hurt, like the ice was forming inside his lungs, slowly piercing and solidifying them until they could move no more.

There was no reprieve, no comfort here.

Vaguely, he tried to lift one of his arms, but they flopped uselessly underneath him.

Where was he?

Then the numbness started to fade, replaced by an unbearable tingling that made him thrash, consumed by the idea of tearing all of his skin off and stepping out anew. A glittering light bathed him in its alien essence and Thorin stopped struggling out of shock, his retinas burning.

_Thorin…_

He knew that voice.

_Thorin Oakenshield…_

He found that he was suddenly released of his paralysis and began to move towards the voice, the light itself.

_Thorin…_

It intoxicated him, it knew him as well as he knew it.

**"Thorin!"**

It all spilled down his throat like lava and his blood boiled as he tried to scream.

**"THORIN!"**

_I am yours…_

Thorin woke shaking and covered in a faint sheen of sweat, only to find himself staring into Balin's crinkled eyes.

"For Mahal's sake, lad," The wiser dwarf muttered, leaning back from where he had been restraining him. "You've got to stop doing this to us!" The last part came out as a strangled joke and Thorin let his body shudder.

"I-I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise. You just scared us." Balin responded, calmer now that the younger one was with them. "Oin was worried that you were having a fit."

"I-I don't know."

He looked down, finding that he was on a bed, not a bedroll.

"It felt like the safest place to put ye." Oin grunted from the corner where he prepared new bandages and a poultice that smelt faintly of mint. "You're a ruddy nuisance, you are."

The prince wasn't sure how to respond to that. Finally, he settled for another lame sounding apology.

"Must've hit yer head 'arder than we thought," growled his long-time friend sitting next to his older brother. "You don't normally say sorry."

Thorin shrugged, disorientated.

"People change."

"Not that quickly, they don't." Dwalin replied bluntly and it made a small laugh come from Thorin unwittingly.

Then his brow furrowed, feeling troubled.

"I'm cold."

He wasn't normally cold. The dwarf was renowned for being able to function well in cold weather.

Perplexed, he looked around to see if there was a draft and felt something warm and heavy being draped round his shoulders.

"Sleep, lad. We've got you now."

But the strange dream he'd awoken from wouldn't leave him be, so he sat in the bed, shivering until his body exhausted itself and he nodded off, lying back on the pillow.

"He's acting quite unlike himself."

"He 'it his 'ead, didn't he?" Dwalin snapped, annoyed that they weren't seeing the obvious. "And he's come 'ome. It's a lot to take in."

Feeling a bit silly, Balin nodded, trying to cast aside the impending sense of doom that hung over him. Unbeknownst to him, his younger brother was trying to do the same thing.

* * *

A fist jolted out from under a pile of rock, flexing like it hadn't done so for years. Slowly, a rotting body followed, rasping quietly and not noticing its skin flaking off.

Then again, zombies didn't know much.

What it WAS aware of was that it had finally been summoned. Someone, somewhere, had touched the stone that bound it to the earth and its will, and it was free to do the bidding set by the original spell caster. Its dead brothers and sisters soon followed, with only death and feasting in their long lost minds.

The dwarves of Erebor rose once more.

Thorin stirred fretfully in unconscious response.

* * *

A low tremble in the dirt caught Bifur's attention whilst he guarded and he knelt, rubbing a finger through it thoughtfully, feeling the crumbs soak wetly into his skin thoughtfully. Despite the axe sticking out of his head, the dwarf hadn't lost his ability to read the stones; every dwarf could do that in their sleep. Mahal had gifted them with the ability from creation. After all, once born from stone, always from stone.

It was turning dark now, streaks of grey and watery yellow joining together as the sun danced its fill for the day. If there was danger brewing, then the night would cloak the enemy in advantage. From what Bifur could feel through the pads of his fingers, there was something big heading their way. It was worrying, but not surprising, considering their luck so far. Bifur brushed those disjointed thoughts aside as he got up from his crouch and began to hurry back towards the entrance. He had to alert the others, because whatever it was, it appeared to be coming from the core under the mountain itself.

* * *

Blue eyes opened blearily to the sounds of battle and, for a moment, Thorin assumed the members of the Company were training or playing. Then his mind caught up with him and the prince leapt out of bed, his vision tunnelling for a moment before righting itself as his right hand closed around the hilt of his sword at the foot of his resting place. His heart went up through his throat in fear.

Not again.

Somehow he knew, once again, that the dead were invading.

"Thorin!" called Bofur frantically as the weary leader came barrelling out of the room and down the flight of stairs. "There's more than last time! There's a whole army!"

Thorin's blood froze, but he kept going.

"Close off the entrance!"

"How?!" screeched Dori, fending off his attacker with a swift stab to the face.

"Use anything, just do it!"

Easier said than done, for the disgusting creatures were beginning to swarm and Thorin let out a howl as he tore through their ranks.

Why was this occurring?! Why did the gods throw more and more at him?! Couldn't they see that he'd had enough?

A dwarf hazed into ash under the weight of his sword.

…The vision in the library.

Despite the chaos, Thorin stopped dead, his dark hair hanging in front of his dirty face.

It had been a warning. Of course it had. He'd unconsciously held the knowledge that the dead were returning!

No.

Why had he just pushed it away? Why had he assumed it to be a nightmare?

Because he was a bloody idiot, that's why.

"Thorin!"

An axe going over his head snapped the royal man out of his horrified stupor and he saw Dwalin glaring over an ash pile.

Like the zombie in the library, it all made sense.

"Keep yer wits about ye, you bloody swine!"

Thorin cleaved the head off one behind him without looking.

"Is that better, your Majesty?"

Dwalin snorted like a bull and charged away.

_Thorin…_

His eyes flicked up, roaming the battlefield for the source of the voice. It was soft, perhaps one of the Company - !

_Thorin…_

No…it was an old voice, one he was certain he'd heard before.

_Thorin…_

Taking an arm from another foul dwarf, the man who'd led an entire army searched for the maddening song. Where had he heard it before? From that strange dream?

_Thorin…_

When he was young.

_Thorin…_

Only a child…

_Thorin…_

**_"What you're hearing is the heart of the mountain, my treasure." Said his mother kindly and with reverence as she told him how special he was and braided his hair with a new bead he'd never seen before._**

_Thorin…_

The stone sobbed beneath his feet for him to relieve its pain and suddenly Thorin's head was filled with whiplash whispers and images and he understood everything EVERYTHING.

_Thorin Thorin…_

"Bilbo!" he cried fearfully as the hobbit was surrounded.

_Find me, Thorin…_

Something stabbed his bicep but he barely flinched, stressed and distracted as he made short work of the offenders.

_Thorin…_

His leg snapped against the hilt of a rotting axe when it crashed into the knee.

"Bilbo, do you still have the Arkenstone?"

_Yes Thorin…_

"There's no time to fawn over a rock!" Bilbo seemed almost hysterical, for Thorin was being battered and not doing a single thing about it.

"Trust me, that's the LAST thing I wish to do!"

_Thorin…_

The point of an arrow pierced his shoulder and Bilbo cried out when Thorin didn't. It hurt from a distance.

"Please, Mister Baggins! I think I have an idea where these beasts came from!"

"Is it similar to pouring molten gold over a sodding dragon?!" Bilbo snapped, at his wit's end and worried that the gold sickness was rearing its ugly head at a time like this.

Thorin was slammed aside to shouts of warning from Nori by a particularly vicious brute and he was set aside for a second.

_Thorin…_

"If – If you mean insane, then I suppose so!" he panted out, stormy eyes pleading with the soft-hearted hobbit. "Let me try!"

What in Mordor's name did they have to lose, Bilbo thought wearily as he fought through the throng to the bulky dwarf's side.

"Don't make me regret this!" he shouted and he dug his hand into his pocket and drew out the Arkenstone.

At its mere presence, the shuffling horde went berserk, hands reaching and mouths twisting in horrific snarls, goops of lumpy skin and congealed blood falling from what yellowed teeth they had left.

_Thorin Thorin Thorin Thorin…_

The young heir to the throne hesitated, hearing the voice gain speed and urgency. What if this was the end of his sanity? What if the gold sickness took over?

Then again, when had he ever been sane?

With that wry thought, he touched the smooth surface once more.

Everything stilled.

_Thorin._

It knew him. It remembered his birth with a fondness that bordered upon joy.

_Oh Thorin._

His ears heard its coos and assumed that the mountain was watching over him; that everyone could hear it.

_**My** Thorin._

It had, in a way.

_My beloved Thorin…_

The Arkenstone wasn't called the Heart of Erebor for nothing.

**_Mine._**

A shockwave blasted through the vicinity, knocking everything and everyone clean off their feet. The child of the West gaped up at the child of Erebor with an unconcealed awe that went close to hysteria.

He glowed with a light of a thousand diamonds, driving the dead back in a serenity that soothed as well as frightened, harbouring a power that, if gazed at directly, would burn the mind out completely.

How were they meant to understand this?

Thorin outstretched a hand that pulsed with the power of the Arkenstone, awful in its angry beauty. The earth heaved in the light's wake.

"Thorin?" Ori whispered in terror.

The army wasn't given a chance to overrun the mountain, for with a motion of his palm, the entrance caved in; big boulders crushing those who didn't move in time with dreadful squelching sounds. As the dust settled from the cave in, another pulse of white warped the remaining undead, twisting them into grains of dust.

So fast.

Nobody moved.

Thorin's hair floated eerily from the force of the stone. His eyes weren't a dark blue anymore – they crackled with neon electricity instead.

They didn't recognise him.

Balin shifted first, spellbound by the majesty before him.

"Thorin? Lad?"

Those orbs met his, blank and without recognition, in what seemed to be a tense stand-off to the man of the Shire.

"You can stop now. You've done it! They're gone."

Balin's gentle voice was all that Thorin needed. The Arkenstone slipped from uncurling fingers and clattered to the floor. Thorin swayed heavily as his eyes rolled sightlessly.

"Uncle!"

With a dry throat and cold, damaged limbs, Thorin fainted once more.

* * *

Okay, that's another one gone and we're finally seeing the real Arkenstone and uncovering the truth behind its power and its connection with the undead.

Please tune in for the next chapter!

Love Lily. X


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